You Poor Thing...

So yeah. Hmm.

I'm not really good at this "posting with frequency" thing. But I think you'll get over it. "You" meaning no one, since no one reads this. Hah! As you all know by now, hurricane Dean smashed Mexico, so we're safe even though there are approximately 87 "tropical disturbances" each announced to be "The Big One" by the local weather forecaster. I'm starting to doubt his honesty. I didn't get the hospital job, and have picked up more hours at the bar. Which is nice, but kind of shady. I mean, I work on the "security team" meaning door-girl, and have 4 guys working with me that can bench-press 500 lbs. While that is comforting when a drunk guy is trying to grab my boob, I get a little uncomfortable when it's "just us" after work and I think about how easily one of them could harm me if they wished to do so. I must go run errands now, there is some chick on Yo, Gabba Gabba teaching the puppet things to dance, and she has on more make-up than Boy George. Just sayin'.

Dean 'Cane

I live in the deep south, about an hour away from the parts of the Gulf Coast that were devastated by Katrina in 2005. Even being an hour inland, Katrina passed over us as a Category 3 hurricane, and the eye passed over our town. We stood on the front porch (because we're smart, y'all) and watched 150 year old pine trees in the historic district of my mother's town fall, three at a time, bouncing  like a tennis ball when they crashed to the ground. Needless to say, that was a little traumatic. What was a tad bit more traumatic was being 6-ish months pregnant at the time (I was due December 1st) and not having power/water/showers/air conditioning for a week. Everyone else took cold baths when the water came back on 4 or 5 days after the storm, but I had calf cramps so badly that the minute my toes touched that cold water, my legs seized up and I cried in pain. My ankles were swollen from the heat, and my legs were a weird lavender color, hazy and veiny.  So when I see the alarmist forecasters chanting "CATEGORY FOUR HURRICANE HEADED TOWARDS THE GULF!" I get a little nervous. Instead of being pregnant, I now have another mouth to worry about feeding and keeping hydrated. I have to worry about diapers, snacks, meals, etc. And dealing with a cranky toddler in the heat. Fortunately, my parents purchased a generator and a window unit air conditioner, so if need be, we'll all be sleeping on the floor in their home office just to soak up the cold air. So if anybody is reading out there, keep us in your thoughts, and some *'Cane fizzle out* vibes would be appreciated.

Such a relative term...

My husband and I joke a lot about how "poor" we are. I guess "trashy" could be a better term to describe it, hah. We don't always pay our bills on time, and more than once there have been threats at the door by utility servicemen to disconnect our service. But we live very, very comfortably compared to lots of people in the country (not to mention the rest of the world). I am an avid bargain hunter, making my daily pilgrimage to Mir's Want Not to see what I can save money on today. I have been able to stay at home with my son for the last 20 months, save for the three months I worked at the bookstore until I realized that wouldn't work, and the occasional weekend I work at the bar my friend works at, taking people's money and listening to live music for free. This all should (hopefully) be changing soon. I've decided to change my major from Education back to Nursing, so I've applied for a job at the local mega-hospital as an Emergency Department Technician. I can handle the gore and bodily fluids, have the medical experience from a previous stint in nursing school, and am genuinely interested in the work. If they do decide to give me the job, I think it will work out swimmingly. That is if I even get a call back, or an interview. The hospital has a ridiculous number of applicants, and it's hard to even get your application looked at. Thankfully my husband has a friend who used to work with the payroll manager at the hospital, who says she will pass my application on to the hiring manager in human resources. Fingers crossed. If anyone is still reading this, a few well-wishes and crossed fingers would be MUCH appreciated, because I'm tired of getting payday loans to pay my gas bill, and praying we have enough left over for some adult food after buying diapers and food that Spider-Toddler likes to eat.

I guess that should be "thang"...

Seeing as I'm in the deep, big-ass mosquito south I guess my title should be spelled according to our particular drawl. However, I'm not going to be writing about NASCAR and fried food, so I should be safe. "You poor thing" is my mother's favorite phrase, whether I am deathly ill or just had a bad day. It can be said with sarcasm when I'm complaining over something she finds trivial, or with the deepest, most sincere pity when something heart-wrenching is going on.  I find myself saying it to Spider-Toddler (ST) on a regular basis, so it must be fairly ingrained in my mind from hearing it constantly for the last 22 years. It seems to be appropriate for most situations I encounter: genuine concern for a friend, congratulatory sarcasm for a family member's good fortune, or acknowledging the fact that my 20-month old really really really REALLY wants something, even though neither of us knows what or why. I hope that y'all enjoy my little foray into blogging, after reading blogs everyday for the past 3 or 4 years, I decided to step up and try to be a big girl.